


Sketch Prompts

by Spatzi_Schatz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Marriage, Multi, Only One Bed, Prompt Fill, Traditions, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatzi_Schatz/pseuds/Spatzi_Schatz
Summary: Collection of short "sketches"that aren't fully-fleshed out fics, but more like snapshots written based off prompts.1. Punk (VLD): Stuck in a Small Place: Gen.2. Sheith (VLD): Only One Bed (Uni AU): Gen.3. Allura/Lance/Lotor (VLD): Wedding Traditions: Gen.4. Sheith (VLD): Forced Vacation: Gen.
Relationships: Allura/Lance/Lotor (Voltron), Hunk/Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Have Your Cake and Eat it Too

No matter what anyone else said, Pidge was decidedly, definitely _not stuck_. Being stuck implied that they were in this small, hard-to-reach access hatch without purpose, and they _did_ have a purpose for being there. That said purpose was null and void since the wiring Coran was looking for didn’t run through this access byway or that they hadn’t accounted for the access panel timing out and auto-locking behind them without flipping a very small, very-easy-to-miss-while-hunting-for-a-very-specific-bundle-of-wiring catch, was beside the point. That the space was tall and narrow, forcing Pidge to climb inside to get to the cabling but also not allowing them enough room to maneuver in a way where they could find any sort of emergency disengage mechanism was just icing on the proverbial cake. 

Ugh. Cake. Pidge missed cake. If they got out of here, they were going to curse Coran’s Grandpop’s ghost and then weedle Hunk into making them a sympathy cake. Or some approximation of cake. Honestly, Pidge would settle for any sort of baked good with a solid spread made with copious amounts of sugar or space sugar substitute. 

Plan formed, Pidge took a deep breath, or as deep as they could take, and squirmed until they could reach their wrist communicator, opening up a private, audio only channel to Hunk. 

“Hey Hunk? Have you ever seen wiring that dripped instead of sparked…?” 


	2. How Bad Could It Be?

Shiro knew his good luck had been too good to last. He hadn’t had to explain his high tech prosthetic to security after being pulled aside for a “random” frisk; his and Keith’s seats had not been randomly moved due to overbooking so they actually got to sit next to one another during the flight; both they and their luggage had made it safely to their destination; and the line to get a cab outside the airport hadn’t been egregiously long, nor had their cabbie been an overly aggressive driver or an overly friendly chatter. 

In hind-sight, he should’ve known picking up a good taxi from the airport would cost him and his karma weeks worth of good deeds, if not months. Even years maybe. By that logic, Shiro  _ should have _ seen this coming. But alas, instead he was just staring at the poor desk clerk whose polite smile was becoming more and more strained the longer he gapped dumbly at her. 

“But why would Slav book us a room with one king instead of two queens? We’re not… I mean. We don’t need…” 

The clerk gave him a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, it was the only room that met his other… very specific requests.” 

Shiro refrained from gripping the handle of his luggage hard enough for the plastic grip to crack, but only just. Instead he pushed out a long breath. “We’re not nearly as… exacting in our needs, except for to prefer two queens. Is there another room that maybe doesn’t meet the other requests but does have two beds?” 

“I’m so sorry, Sirs.” And she does look very contrite about the whole thing. “With the conference, we’re totally booked up. Even the rooms we normally keep aside for just this sort of situation have been filled.” 

Somehow, he doubts there are often the sort of situations where the list of special accommodations for a guest is longer than the in-room dining menu, but Shiro doesn’t say that out loud. He is probably not the first guest today this woman has had to say “no” to and he won’t be the last. He takes a calming breath and tries to divert his thoughts away from homicide. 

Next time, he will insist on booking his own hotel room. Even if that means putting it on his credit card because the paperwork for reimbursement from the university takes forever to process. Even if that means a hotel farther away from the venue that isn’t as nice, doesn’t have WiFi, and possibly has bed bugs. When Slav had proudly announced that he had gotten a good deal on hotel rooms, Shiro had practically salivated at the idea of being at the hotel actually hosting the conference. What is the worst that can happen? He had thought, naively, at the time. 

This, this was the worst that could happen: a five-night stay in a very swanky hotel room with his wicked-smart, funny, handsome research partner whom he had to give a presentation with on the paper they had co-authored, who also happened to be his best friend, and coincidentally, possibly also the secret love of his life, with only one bed. 

“Do you have a map of the conference hall?”


	3. What Makes A Tradition?

When it came to big life events, Lance had always considered himself pretty traditional--and proudly so. When Veronica had said she didn’t want a  _ Quinceañera _ , Lance had begged, pleaded, and courced his sister into reconsidering. (If you listened to Veronica’s version of events, which Lance didn’t because he had been there and he remembered what  _ really _ happened just fine, thank you very much, Lance had cried and thrown a temper-tantrum and refused to budge from her bedroom floor until she agreed to let him plan the “best  _ Quinceañera  _ ever in the history of  _ Quinceañera _ ”) Even at ten, Lance knew the importance of traditions and keeping them alive, passing them on to future generations, even if they were a little old-fashioned. 

He was the last of all people in the entire multiverse that might say “Screw tradition! Let’s elope!” But here he was, staring down at guest list that was thicker than his Intro to Flight Mechanics textbook, more fabric and floral arrangement swatches than he had ever seen in his life, even for Veronica’s Most Amazing Ever  _ Quinceañera,  _ as well as written and video instructions for both the Altean courting waltz and the Galra combat rite of passage and a thirty-page packet jointly researched by Pidge, Hunk, and Keith of all people of the pros and cons of the top twenty wedding venues, filterable by distance, security, food, and aesthetic. 

Under any other circumstance, Lance would revel in the chaos that was planning a joint wedding between the Heir Apparent of Altea, the Galra Emperor, and the Red Paladin of Voltron, creating not only the first peaceful unity between all three cultures ever, but the biggest and best party anyone had ever seen in the history of the universe. And while that was all great and Lance preened under the attention, the best part of all of this had been working toward putting together an event where he could  _ show _ his care and devotion to the two people who meant most to him in the world. This was something not-quite-tangible, not-quite-nebulous that he could  _ give _ them. The two people who had everything they wanted in the universe at their fingertips. (It made them  _ The Worst  _ to shop for during the holidays.)

But since their engagement announcement, Lance had watched the not-so-slow erosion of his lovers’ happiness as the stress of the impending nuptials mounted. Day by day, he watched quietly as Allura became quicker to snap, quicker to anger, and slower to forgive; not at all the young woman who had excitedly babbled to him about the grand balls of her youth, the beautiful gowns and sharp suits of the party-goers whirling around the dance floor in the Altean palace. All the while, Lotor became cold, distant, and aloft, the very picture of the closed-off, stone-hearted Emperor he had been before Allura and Lance had torn down his walls. Gone was the charismatic, whip-witted rogue who liked to tease and be teased in equal measure. Though they were both amazing diplomats--It made Lance both melt with affection and tremble in fear at what they would accomplish together--they didn’t reveal in planning this event when it hit so close to the tender parts of themselves.

They were two of the greatest people Lance had ever met, saviors of the known and unknown universe, and bearers of peace the universe hadn’t seen in over 10,000 years. They deserved to enjoy their own wedding, at the very least. Mind made up, Lance took a steadying breath and straightened his shoulders before initiating the call he knew he needed to make.

Keith’s face appeared on screen after a handful of nerve-wracking trills of the dial tone. “What’s up?” he asked immediately. 

Lance scoffed. “Can’t a guy just call his very well-respected team leader and very good and kind friend just to chat?” 

All Keith did was quirk a dark eyebrow and Lance broke. 

“Okay, okay. So I might, maybe, kinda need the smallest of very discrete, super secret spy favors…” 

Keith crossed his arms and lifted both eyebrows now. Fuck a duck. 

“I wanna elope with Allura and Lotor,” Lance blurted. “And, I know, I know! Okay! ‘ _ But Lance, what about tradition and all that you always say you love so much? Not to mention skipping a giant party just for you? Seems like a dream come true for you!’  _ And like, it would be if Allura and Lotor were just as into it as I am, but they’re not. They’re stressed and unhappy and like that’s not what this is supposed to be, ya know? Traditions are all about marking big milestones in life. Putting a stake in the ground and declaring, ‘This, this right here is Important. So important that it’s important to an entire group of people! And we want to remember it and teach our children and their children about it!’ But if having a traditional wedding doesn’t make Allura or Lotor happy, then… then fuck tradition!” 

Lance glanced at Keith, who was still watching him impassively, but he wasn’t laughing at him, so Lance took it as a good sign to continue. 

“But, I still want like you and the rest of the paladins and my family and everyone, ya know, important to be there. And I still want it to be pretty like Allura wants and luxuriant to Lotor’s taste and for that… I need help,” he admitted. “Allura and Lotor will never agree. They’ll feel like they’ve let the universe down or something.”  __

Keith is quiet for a moment, long enough that Lance risks glancing at him again. His face stayed stoic for a beat longer before cracking into a mischievous grin. It’s slightly more terrifying than his normal grumpy face.

“When do you want to do this?” he asked.

“Uh… as soon as possible, I guess? How long do you think it’ll take to put something together?”

“Give me a movement and you’ll have your secret elopement. I’ll com you the details as you need them.” 

Lance nodded and disconnected, letting out a slow breath. He was really doing this. He felt like he had swallowed a small sun. 


End file.
